Burns
by the-unforgiving
Summary: While waiting at the train station with Peeta and her daughter, Katniss spots a woman at the station that reminds her a little too much of someone. Post-Mockingjay, pre-epilogue. One-shot.


**A/N: Just a short one-shot I wrote. I published it a little while ago, but there seemed to be something wrong with it so I've published it again :/**

Burns

The nightmare is the same every time. Back in the Capitol, when Snow and Coin were still alive. The bombs. Prim. Except this time, her body rises from the ground where it has fallen, previously as limp as a rag doll and lifeless as anything, very much alive, with a grotesque smile on its face. _'Is this how it all ends?' _She whispers. Her eyes, which were previously a soft blue as beautiful as Peeta's, are now as black as the coal that we used to mine in Twelve. Her flesh melts away, and she slowly disintegrates into nothing as I scream and scream to come back. As her face finally disappears, taking the odd smile and the coal black eyes with her, she leaves only one thing in her wake. Words. _You will never escape the fire..._

I sit up in bed in a cold sweat. It's been happening for so long now that it is just expected when I wake. My eyes immediately rush down to Peeta as I try to keep control of my breath, not wanting to be too loud and wake him. What does it even mean? I know, every day, when I wake up that she's dead. I know that I will never escape the fire; I have even stopped trying to run from it. It is what Panem's image of me was born from and what my sister was consumed by. All I can hope is that I can save Willow from the fire that has secretly destroyed not just her, but me. At only four years old, she is still innocent. She has no idea about our roles in making the world that she was born into, the people we have killed, and the rebellion we helped spark. I wish I could keep it like that, but since I cannot, I just embrace the time I have. Four. Two years left until she begins school.

"Mother, mother!" I watch as Willow runs into the room, in her pyjamas that are on backwards and black hair askew; she refuses help with getting dressed no matter how many times Peeta asks, determined that one that she'll get it right. While I know it must be wrong, every time I see Willow, a bit of terror runs through me, all running on what ifs.

I close my eyes momentarily as Willow jumps up onto the bed. _My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am twenty nine years old. I live in District Twelve; the rebuilt District Twelve. I was in the 74th Hunger Games. I won with Peeta. I was in the Quarter Quell. I escaped and became the Mockingjay. Peeta didn't. He returned broken, battered and different, but I managed to bring him back. He has attacks sometimes, but I always manage to bring him back. We are married. We have a four year old daughter named Willow. I have lost so much but Peeta is alive. Willow is alive. The Hunger Games are gone and we are safe._

"Mother?" Willow's voice gets more impatient, and I quickly remind myself that she is only four. I noticed that Peeta has slept right through her calls to me; he must be having a peaceful sleep for once, so I pull her onto my lap and take a hairbrush from my side table, carefully and slowly raking it through her hair.

"Yes, Willow?" I ask as I brush my hair, idly humming to her. I try to keep my voice down as to wake Peeta, even though I know since it must be a peaceful night, he is dead to the world.

"Are we still going to Four today? Aunt Annie's birthday, remember?" Willow asks, sounding extremely excited. Annie's birthday. Her son insists that we come over, as well as Johanna; it'll make her happy. I know what would really make her happy. It isn't a little something for her kitchen or one of Peeta's cakes, or something you can just fit in a box, it's something she will never get again. At least she has her son, though. I dread what will happen when he is grown up; he's only twelve now. If he chooses to leave, she will be destroyed all over again.

"Of course." I manage to feign a smile for my daughter as I put her dark hair into a braid. "How about we go have breakfast?" I ask her. Even now, it feels so odd to say that; that you can just reach out and have food right at your fingertips. I'm glad that Willow will never have a chance of starving. I'm glad Willow will get a childhood. I'm glad Willow won't have to grow up so fast.

"Race you to the kitchen!" Willow squeals, and this time, I can't help but smile for real. She races out of the room and I lag behind as I always do. I always let Willow win.

xxxx

When we get to the train station, I immediately pull Willow closer to me, as if at any moment, she will be snatched away from me by Peacekeepers and taken away to an arena, even though she isn't even anywhere near Reaping age. I hate trains, but it's not like we can exactly walk to District Four. I take a deep breath and gently run my hands through Willow's soft hair, waiting for the train to come and the journey to start. Willow likes trains. She always asks me how they work and how the train ride makes the journey even better, and I smile and nod and just tell her 'that's good,' not able to agree. One day she will understand, but not this early.

At some point, my eyes wander around our train station. This early, it isn't crowded, just a few people here other than us; no one of note... until I go to turn my head back to Willow, someone peeking out at me from the corner of my eye.

When I look at them, I have to pretend that my feet are glued to the floor. A woman, probably twenty five years old, the same age Prim would be this May if she was still here, with long blonde hair in a complicated braid that cascades down her back. I immediately take note of something else - scars; burn scars, covering almost every inch of her body; she may have even more than I do. She wears a short white dress, a dress that reminds me of one I've seen someone wear a long time ago.

That's when she looks at me, and I see her crystal blue eyes. They seem to be burning into me. Her expression when she looks at me is almost mournful.

Willow tugs on my pants, "Mother, the train is here!"

I give my daughter a nod, and with one final look at the girl behind me, I board the train.

It must all be a coincidence; being cruel to me.

It can't be Prim.

It's never Prim.

xxxx


End file.
